


and they were ROOMMATES

by dreamclub



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fictober, M/M, all of dream will be mentioned, and others too probably but just as background, two chapters bc i have no time management skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 11:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamclub/pseuds/dreamclub
Summary: Mark hates confrontation, but after multiple run-ins with the same man in less than a day his patience wears a little thin.He hopes he’ll never have to see him again. And then, in some cosmic joke, he finds out that they’re roommates.





	1. Shit List Guy

**Author's Note:**

> fictober day 8, but ill have to continue tomorrow because i have poor time management! ill post the prompt for this in the notes next chapter.
> 
> ill post another fic tomorrow too, dont worry :-) hope you all enjoy the first chapter!

In life, there are certain moments that are expected to be stressful. Things that can’t be escaped without a scratch or two, mental or physical. For Mark, a chronic over-thinker, he tended to have these moments more than others. Once he’d cried while his friends sang Happy Birthday to him because he didn’t know if he was supposed to sing along. That wasn’t the worst of it, either.

As he pulled up to his College for the first time since he toured it, he felt justified in his panicking. Nobody survives the first day at their dorm without freaking out a little, right? And if Mark freaked out slightly more than average, well. That was nobody’s business but his.

Thankfully he’d gotten his parking pass online, so he didn’t need to park illegally and walk to pick it up from the office. Dodging and weaving through slowly crawling cars, he finally found a parking spot, and moved to turn into it carefully. People had left their trunks open and bags strewn about, and he didn’t want to hit anything.

Just as he started to close in on it, a truck swooped around the corner and backed in recklessly, practically leaving skid marks against the pavement. Mark swore he heard a whoop. Like a racecar driver in an action movie. 

Despite being permanently stressed, he considered himself somewhat levelheaded. As he waited in the line of cars, though, he couldn’t help but fume. And when the driver, an attractive man, stepped out of the car and was decidedly not someone’s speed demon Grandmother, he couldn’t help but mentally add him to his shit list. Even if he was cute.

And from that far away, Mark could still tell he was cute.

Behind him, someone honked, and he pressed on the gas, too preoccupied with looking at the man to realize the line had moved. Whatever. He needed all of the visual details to accurately portray him on his shit list.

-

Half an hour later, Mark finally found a spot, and decided to wait to move his things up to the dorm. A steady flow of students carrying boxes moved in and out of the building, parents saying goodbye and couples kissing up against their cars. It was crowded. And he needed to find the dining hall, anyway, before he died of hunger.

So he parked and got out of the car, venturing out into the parking lot and looking carefully for errant cars. 

While he was distracted looking for someone who could give him distractions, he let his guard down. Big mistake. From across the parking lot a stuffed pig flew, hitting him square in the face. Luckily it was plush, and the unsettling beady eyes didn’t hit him, so he was pretty much unharmed. Besides his heart. As far as his heart was concerned, he might’ve just as well bungee jumped against his will or narrowly missed being hit by a car.

Stunned speechless, Mark looked around the parking lot, trying to find someone who looked like they lobbed stuffed animals at random strangers. He’d never been the biggest fan of plushies, with their creepily fixed smiles and germ-infested fur, so it was pretty much a double assault as far as he was concerned. 

“Hey,” a short guy with ashy brown hair and a badly hidden smile waved at him from near the cars, waving a short arm, “Throw it back!”

Mark marched up to them, clutching the pig so tightly he felt it might pop between his fingers. “Throw it back? You just hit me in the face!”

“It wasn’t me, it was him.” he pointed to the ass of a man that was leaning inside the passenger door of his truck, rooting for something. And wait a minute. He recognized that car. It was Shit List Guy!

“That’s Shit List Guy!” Mark repeated aloud, shaking the stuffed pig in his direction with the angriest glare he could muster.

Unfortunately, ‘angry glare’ on him came off more as ‘displeased kitten’, or if he was lucky ‘baby about to throw a fit’. The boy ducked his head out of the car, and holy shit. He was ethereal. Pretty in a really odd kind of way. Mark could’ve majored in English with all of the metaphors his brain was sprouting at the sight of his eyes glittering honey in the golden sun, his messy hair looking like styled bedhead instead of organically produced bedhead.

“Can I just have the pig,” the short guy said, holding a hand out like Mark was a petulant child. 

“Shit List Guy?” SLG echoed at the same time, pulling off the annoyed glare much better than Mark.

Instead of responding, because honestly his tongue felt paralyzed and anything he would say would either be extremely lame or get him beat up, he walked away. Still holding the pig. Served those assholes right, anyway! 

Ignoring their confused calls, he made a speedy getaway, blending into the crowd and ducking behind two men carrying a mattress. Once he was sure he was safe, he called one of his older friends, Jungwoo. It was his third year at the college, and he mostly knew his way around, so Mark figured bugging him for information was the next best course of action.

-

After ten minutes of very confusing dictated directions from Jungwoo and one near meltdown, Mark found the dining hall. As promised, his friend was waiting outside, freshly dyed orange hair shining like a lighthouse in the sea of disgruntled students.

“We’ll have to go off campus tomorrow,” Jungwoo grimaced, “And get you some real food. This stuff’s gross.”

“Great!” Mark said sarcastically, pushing past Jungwoo and opening the swinging doors, waiting for him to enter first. He was angry, not impolite.

“Do you hate grocery stores that much?” Jungwoo laughed, making his way inside and leading the way to one of the lines.

Once in line, Mark slumped over onto Jungwoo, leaning a head on his shoulder and sighing heavily. He wrapped an arm around his waist, keeping him right, rubbing a comforting circle with his hand. Usually, Mark wasn’t one for physical affection. But Mark wasn’t usually on the verge of a breakdown in a college cafeteria, so. Whatever. Plus, Jungwoo gave really warm hugs. Lord knew he needed the comfort.

“Today is already so _bad._ ” he gestured emphatically, swinging his hands around as he regaled the rest of his tragic tale about Shit List Guy and the Parking/Pig Debacle.

At least he got a story out of it.

By the time he was finished, he’d somehow ordered gross, limp chicken and broccoli, and been seated by Jungwoo in a semi-empty corner of the cafeteria. Next to them, a younger kid cried and clung to their older brother, who looked tired and sad. Mark didn’t know who he related to more.

Jungwoo pushed his plate of fries over, offering them to Mark. “I’ll help you unpack tonight, okay? You’ll get through this!”

For a while they sat and chatted, Jungwoo giving Mark advice about the best shortcuts between buildings and prices on food at nearby restaurants, and Mark creatively whining about his nerves. Briefly, he felt like it may be okay. Then, over the din of people eating, he heard a loud cackle enter the cafeteria.

Somehow, deep in his veins, he knew. He knew that SLG had just walked in, probably with his imposing friend and maybe a whole gang of other wishy-washy friends. Wide-eyed, he looked over his shoulder at the door, and found his suspicions confirmed. 

Inconspicuously as possible, he slid the stuffed pig under the table, hiding it between his thighs. Jungwoo handed him his hoodie to drape over his lap. College sure was surreal so far.

As if his life couldn’t get any more like a bad anime, Jungwoo whispered, “They’re coming this way.”

“I don’t appreciate the amusement in your voice,” Mark glared back, staring down at his tray like the chicken had committed a crime against him. Which it kind of had. Jungwoo was right, it was gross.

Fortunately, the group was too involved in laughing amongst themselves and being a general nuisance to spot Mark. Still the room suddenly felt way too small, and Mark had a pressing need to unpack his things. He stood. It was getting later anyway, nearly one in the afternoon, and he wanted to be able to get most of his boxes emptied by sunset.

“You coming?” Mark called over his shoulder, wrapping the pig in the sweatshirt like a baby and leaving his tray on the table for Jungwoo to collect and throw out for him.

-

When Mark made it up to his dorm with the first load of things, his roommate had already brought most of his things up. Boxes were strewn around the room, encroaching on Mark’s side, going as far as to having placed a box on his desk. Of course he’d gotten an annoying roommate. For his sake, he hoped it was a one-off.

Any more stress and he would burst like a balloon.

“Where do you want this,” Jungwoo huffed, mountain of boxes piled so high in his arms he couldn’t see over them. Crouching to enter the room, he wobbled for a second before righting himself again. Close call. Mark was pretty sure one of those boxes contained glass bowls.

He gestured to the floor beside his bed, forgetting Jungwoo couldn’t see him over the cardboard. Plopping his own bags on the bed, he went to help his friend. When he grabbed the bags, he grunted in surprise at how heavy they were.

Most of the stuff left in his car wasn’t important, just odd and ends like decorations and stationary; he’d go down to get a few boxes when Jungwoo left and retrieve the rest sometime the next day. After explaining his plan, Jungwoo left, planning on meeting his boyfriend to watch a movie.

Left to his own devices, Mark immediately put his roommate’s box back on the right side of the room. Of course he’d already made his bed, botanical tumblr bedspread littered with mountains of stuffed animals. They were haunting him.

Out of all of the things Mark feared about his first day, he didn’t think stuffed animals would be among them.

Other than that his things seemed pretty normal. He’d started to set up his desk, a #1 Dad mug full of pens and a rooster lamp among his collection of odd knick-knacks. A macbook sat in the middle, covered in quirky stickers and what looked to be a lipstick print. Odd guy.

Mark got out his own comforter and sheets, plain blue, and made his bed, sprawling over the twin mattress to tuck in the corners of his sheet. 

Suddenly it was five at night, and outside of their shuttered windows the sun was slowly setting, outdoor lights from campus illuminating the room in orange light. He’d unpacked his clothes into their closet, and made his own little nook in the bathroom area he’d share with four other people from the dorm. A small common room with a kitchenette connected their rooms, but he barely checked it out for fear of the two rowdy boys who were sprawled across the sofa.

He’d claim his cabinets and unpack his snacks tomorrow.

In the meantime, he decided to venture back out to his car to get his box of decorations. Among them were curtains, which he wasn’t sure if his roommate had already purchased but got them just in case, and storage bins for under his bed that were currently stuffed full of pictures and posters to hang up.

Still bustling with people, he ducked and weaved people who were either just arriving or heading from the cafeteria like he had been just hours earlier. He’d eaten his first college meal, and had his first college cry, he realized. What a big deal. Resolutely, he decided to not let any more small annoyances disturb him; he only had one first day at college, and he didn’t want to ruin the memory with petty anger.

The walk back to the building was fairly uneventful. Most people stayed out of the way of the small boy straining under the load of boxes, and while he wished he’d had Jungwoo’s surprisingly muscular arms to aid him he was doing fine by himself.

It helped that his building had an elevator. He was only on the third floor, but even one flight of steps with his load would be an issue. As he walked towards it he heard someone in front of him, heavy footsteps pounding the floor. Over the boxes, he couldn’t see them. Hopefully they’d call the elevator and wait for him.

 _Ding!_ the elevator doors slid open, and Mark started to rush forward, suddenly feeling very top heavy. He stumbled and fell, boxes crashing down around him, a lone smiling gnome figurine rolling out of the box and onto the floor.

What seemed like all of his earthly possessions followed suit, landing in a heap right next to Mark’s dignity.

And as if it couldn’t get any worse, he shamefully peeked at the closing elevator doors just before they shut. SLG’s beautiful face was slowly covered. He didn’t even bother to hide his laugh.

Mark began to gather his stuff, running over a few important pieces of information in his mind. First of all, he’d just taken perhaps the most embarrassing spill of his life in front of a cute boy. A cute boy that lived in his dorm. Who hadn’t tried to help him, or held the elevator for him, instead laughing at his blatant shame and misery and leaving him to wallow in it.

Yay. College.

Someone’s Mom stopped to help him, smiling wide and asking if he was okay, carefully packing his stuff away somehow in the perfect spots. It was equally embarrassing and comforting. He missed his Mom a lot, and it was only the first day. How would he cope?

After finally getting his things back together, he got into the elevator. All he wanted was to collapse into his bed and fall asleep, time be damned. Stress had exhausted him to the point that it might have as well been midnight.

Thankfully, he made it to his dorm without any more mishaps. Then came the problem of opening his door. Music blasted from inside the room, after a minute registering as Toxic by Britney Spears. Huh. His roommate got weirder every second.

Nontheless, he kicked at the door, hoping his roommate would hear it over the music and let him in.

After a moment the music shut off, and Mark kicked again, more impatient that time. His arms were getting really tired. If only he hadn’t been such a freak for organization…

The door swung open and a laugh that had quickly become familiar echoed through the hallway. Fighting his initial instinct to drop his boxes and run, signed Red Velvet poster be damned, he pushed past Shit List Guy into his new room.

Dropping his boxes on the floor, he quickly followed, launching himself into his bed and under the covers without sparing a glance at his roommate.

“Uh, hello?” he said, voice way too amused for the current situation. Mark hated that the other man wasn’t as bothered as he was.

“Go fuck yourself,” he accidentally said aloud, because apparently he had no filter and also a death wish.

He usually wasn’t that vulgar. The guy just pulled it out of him somehow. Figuring he might as well go the full mile, he tried to think up witty replies to anything the guy might have said, but it proved futile because he stood eerily still and silent for a full minute and then made a few stomping sounds.

“Alright,” he finally replied, and then turned the Britney Spears back on, kicking it up to full volume.

Mark huffed and put in his earbuds, turning them to full volume to attempt to cover Britney’s grating voice. It hardly worked. When his roommate started to sing along, Mark considered jumping out of the window. Or going to stay in Jungwoo’s dorm for the rest of the term; his roommate was dating some rich guy that lived off campus, anyway, so he probably had a bed open. If not, he wasn’t entirely opposed to being the little spoon.

After a moment, he considered that SLG might like, light his stuff on fire or throw it all out onto the street, so he dug his head deeper into his pillow and tried to fall asleep over the pounding of the music. At six at night. Because apparently that was how his college life was going to be.

-

When Mark woke up, his roommate was nowhere to be found. In a sleepy haze, he could almost convince himself that he had dreamed the whole thing. Or nightmared it. What was the past tense of nightmare? Either way, he hoped it was fake.

When he woke up and rolled out of bed to come face to face with a Guy Fieri cardboard cutout, he knew only Shit List Guy could have something so useless and creepy. At some point in the night he’d decorated his whole wall. A giant tapestry of that painting of dogs playing poker in pastel covered the wall, next to a few street signs that seemed to be stolen and a ‘my child is an honors student!’ poster. String lights shaped like dogs were draped across the wall, framing a badly drawn picture of Goofy from Mickey Mouse.

The whole thing just got weirder and weirder. Suddenly Mark didn’t feel so embarrassed about hanging up his Red Velvet poster.

Stretching and standing, he went through his plans for the day. He didn’t have class until the next morning, so he had the entire night open. Aside from his plans to go grocery shopping with Jungwoo in the afternoon, his plans were basically wide open. 

_‘party after groceries?’_ Jungwoo text him, ending his mulling over what to do for the day.

Usually he wouldn’t be the party type, especially not when he had class the next day, but he wanted to minimize time spent at the dorm. He confirmed his interest and Jungwoo text him the address, along with about a million emoji hearts.

-

After a rigorous hour of hanging up his posters and pictures, Mark was sweaty and ready for a shower. His dorm was freezing the night before, so he’d just gone to bed in his jeans and sweater, and buried under the comforter it got hot quickly. When he woke up it was like his shitty roommate had leached all of the cold out with him.

Demons made cold spots, didn’t they?

Either way, the heat had gotten to him, and he was ready to test the water shower in the bathroom. He grabbed a pair of black jeans and a soft red shirt and ventured out his dorm, peeking his head into the common room to see if the coast was clear. It was.  
He’d always been an early riser. It made him wonder just how early his roommate had gotten up to be awake and gone by the time he’d opened his eyes. Sketchy.

Usually he’d put music on, but he didn’t know how thin the walls were, and Britney the night before had pretty much rendered him incapable of hearing anyway, so he opted not to. Without locking the door behind him, he put his clothes on the toilet seat, stripped, and got into the shower.

That turned out to be a fatal mistake.

Halfway through his shower, someone clanged through the dorm door loudly, shouting and hollering with their friends.

“Hyuck, we all know you won’t do it,” someone yelled, obviously egging their friend on.

“Fucking watch me!” his roommate’s voice echoed through the small dorm room, followed by an assortment of loud yells.

For a moment Mark was scared he was unleashing spiders into their room or something equally unsavory, but he realized they hadn’t entered their room, just the common room. Plus, spiders would affect Hyuck as well. Unless he was a freak that loved spiders. Which seemed plausible. Either way, he figured it was safe, and continued shampooing and minding his own business.

Unfortunately, that quickly came to an end. After an assortment of loud banging and shrieking in the kitchen, someone started to pound on the door.

“Um, occupied?” Mark called out, voice shrill. What do you say when it sounds like someone is being murdered in your apartment, and then someone bangs on your door?

The door swung open. “Fucking, fuck, whatever, fuck!”

His roommate really was from hell. He should’ve locked the door. “What did you even do, dumbass?”

Bold words for someone completely naked in a shower, but hey, how else was he supposed to respond. The sink turned on, effectively making the shower water run ice cold. Mark yelped and jumped out of the way, knocking into the shower curtain and falling down, wrapping the fabric around him as he hit the ground.

At least the door had swung behind Hyuck when he’d burst in. One person seeing him sopping wet and curled into the fetal position on the bathroom floor was enough, thank you very much. Hyuck looked almost as bad, eyes watering and lips bright red and puffy. He was brushing his teeth and tongue so vigorously it was like he hadn’t even noticed Mark’s fall.

“What’s going on in there?” someone yelled.

“Did you die?” another voice chimed in, prompting a round of laughter. It wasn’t even that funny.

Mark tried to stand, but only succeeded in slipping on the puddle that had formed under him. Not his proudest moment.

“Get! Out!” Mark yelled, glaring up at him from the floor, curtain wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl.

Mouth full of toothpaste, Hyuck replied, “Or what? You’ll strangle me with a curtain?”

It was a lame reply. Still, it made him see red. Before Mark could get up and strangle him, he laughed and left the room, seemingly unbothered.

-

Aside from a brief run-in when Mark returned his groceries to the dorm, he didn’t see Hyuck much at all. He’d even peacefully managed to get dressed and brush his hair in the bathroom without getting burst in on. Small steps, but impressive ones.

Sitting in the car with Jungwoo, Mark tried to rationally explain his anger. In patented Jungwoo fashion, he tried to explain why Mark should charm Hyuck into loving him, thus bending to his every whim, instead.

“My charm would be wasted on him, fake or not,” Mark sniffed, the car pulling to a stop just in time for him to make a dramatic exit.

In an effort to forget about his roommate, Mark got incredibly drunk. At a house party. A get-together, even. There were barely 30 people there.

Somehow, ever the lightweight, he’d gotten hammered enough to not notice Hyuck’s arrival. Imagine his surprise when he turned around after getting his drink and bumped right into his roommate, spilling bright orange vodka and soda down his nice white shirt.

“Revenge,” Mark said softly, almost too softly to hear, and then slipped away into the bathroom.

Just for a quick rest, he sat in the bathtub. A single squeaky duck wearing a shower cap rested on the rim of the tub, next to a bottle of raspberry shampoo. Clutching his new friend to his chest, he dozed off.

After what couldn’t have been more than five minutes, the door violently burst open, startling him awake. 

Peeking around the curtain he saw a fuming Hyuck, clutching a shirt that probably wasn’t his in his hand. He stripped off his sopping shirt, probably ruined forever. Mark felt kind of bad. Then he remembered the parking space and snorted to himself.

Hyuck made a noise of confusion and peeked around before spotting Mark, who ducked his head back into the tub like a meercat. He pulled the curtain open and, still shirtless, threw the wet shirt on him.

“Pervert!” he pointed a finger, and ran out, still shirtless. Mark sighed and fell back asleep.

At some point he’d have to deal with the whole ‘crazy roommate’ crisis. Fortunately, that was Future Mark’s problem.


	2. Un-Shit Listed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i didnt get an extra fic up, but technically i did post once each day! and ill fill all of the prompts, i just need to catch up. prompts were ‘what are your feelings about cooking’ or whatever that line was and ‘silence’
> 
> the problem w fictober is that its so rushed and i want to explore all of this more but i dont have TIME dmskdkd 
> 
> sorry if this feels rushed

Mark woke up at around eleven, still curled up in the bathtub. Hyuck’s shirt, which had mostly dried, was draped over him like a blanket. He smelled like alcohol and regret. Residual tipsiness rolled over him in waves as he stood. The duck fell, squeaking sadly on the porcelain tub.

Re-checking his phone for the time (he’d forgotten it within thirty seconds of looking), he winced at how late it was. An hour and a half of sleep in a hard, cold bathtub didn’t exactly do wonders for his back, and a headache pounded at his skull.

Cautiously, he exited the tub, folding the shirt and holding it carefully away from him in the process.

Before, the party had been just barely loud, a pleasant roar of conversation over the tastefully curated playlist. Nothing intense. Now, though, the silence made before seem like a frat party. Almost no noise came from outside of the door.

Peeking his head out, he looked around. A few cups littered the hallway. Half-empty beer bottles lead to an ajar bedroom door. Faint American pop flooded through the apartment, almost too quiet to hear.

“Hello?” Mark murmured, throat painfully dry. Nobody was in the living room as far as he saw.

After closer inspection, he found Jungwoo asleep on the couch, a fuzzy blanket thrown over his body. On his forehead someone had taped a note reading ‘draw on him and die, xoxo sicheng’, so Mark assumed he’d been well taken care of. An unopened bottle of water and aspirin sat next to him.

Aside from Jungwoo, it seemed like everyone else had gone home. Which was fine and dandy, except for he had no ride back, and no money for an Uber. Jungwoo didn’t have class until five the next day, so he’d be fine, but Mark had stupidly signed up for an 8 am lecture, so he was pretty much royally screwed.

Karma, he supposed, for getting shitfaced at a house party. On the night before school. On Strawberita sparkling beer thingies.

Startling him so thoroughly he almost passed out, someone called from the kitchen, “In here!”

Mark followed the voice, still groggy from sleep. Panic was beginning to hit him. Getting water and possibly whatever chips or pizza was left over into his body didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Sicheng was probably still cleaning up, and that was the person he’d heard. Or maybe Yuta, the infamous boyfriend, as well as owner of the large apartment.

“You’re still here?” Hyuck asked, beer bottle held to his mouth like a microphone. He lowered it slowly. Swimming in an oversized shirt, he almost looked cute. Maybe Mark was still more drunk than he’d originally thought.

“ _You’re_ still here?” Mark parroted, blinking against the harsh lighting of the kitchen.

From the looks of it, he was helping Sicheng clean up, throwing food into trashbags and putting drinks away in the fridge. Sticking around after a party didn’t seem like a Shit List Guy thing to do. Logically, the only explanation was that he was trying to lull Mark into a false sense of security.

Hyuck grabbed a water from the fridge, still dripping from the ice bucket, and held it out like an olive branch. “Trade you for the shirt?”

“I wasn’t spying, you know,” Mark blurted. A not-so-new habit of his that seemed to come out more around Hyuck.

Hyuck just sighed and turned around, throwing bottles into the bag more forcefully. One shattered. It stayed safely inside of the garbage bag. That was vaguely how Mark felt at the moment, odd emotions swirling inside of him, along with a significant amount of alcohol and the entire bag of sour gummy worms he’d eaten on his way back from the grocery store.

He really hadn’t been making the best decisions recently. What had been introduced into his life? Hyuck. Therefore, it was all his fault.

Sicheng walked in from the other room, looking about as tipsy as Mark felt. Somehow he still looked like a model-- just one that was about to fall off of the runway. Drunk, but make it fashion.

“Mark!” Sicheng smiled, stumbling over to him and patting his shoulder affectionately. The Sicheng equivalent of hugging someone for over a minute.

“Sleepy,” Mark said in return, slouching into his side. Sicheng nodded in agreement.

Hyuck tied up the bag with a huff, and threw it in a pile with the rest. The kitchen looked mostly clean. Hyuck must have done the brunt of it himself, if Sicheng’s state was anything to go by. With a final sweeping glance, he checked inside the fridge and under the island, and then slammed his hands on the counter. Sicheng hiccuped.

Hyuck said, “Do you need a ride?”

Mark looked around to see who he was talking to. After a moment, he pointed to himself. Hyuck nodded. Mark copied him, bobbing his head too fast and nearly falling over. 

“I’ll drive you!” Sicheng yelled, searching the counter for his keys.

Hyuck grabbed him by the wrist. “You don’t even have a license? And you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk!” Sicheng whined. Hyuck lead him by his wrist into the living room. He dragged his heels like a petulant child. Mark shut his eyes and winced against his voice.

“Wait here, I have to get him situated and then we can go.” Hyuck said.

Mark sat at the island and wondered why Hyuck was being so nice to him. Maybe he’d been possessed, or the demon formerly possessing him had left, or he’d hit his head and acquired memory loss… Either way, Mark didn’t trust it. That didn’t change the fact that it was his only option.

So, obediently, he waited. Hyuck came back into the kitchen to grab another bottle of water, and he shook the bottle of ibuprofen in the living room like a maraca. Ten minutes later, he was ready to go.

One minute, Mark was sitting down in the passenger seat of Hyuck’s truck, looking questioningly at the various weird knick-knacks that covered the interior. Then he woke up, red light glaring in his eyes, slumped down into the seat.

Hyuck looked beautiful illuminated by the neon red, which shifted into bright green, sand-colored skin glowing under the light. Unguarded and tired, unaware that Mark was awake, he lip-synced to the quiet indie band that was playing on the radio.

The car moved forward.

“Pretty,” Mark mumbled, voice thick with sleep, drunk on absurdity and tiredness and gross wine coolers.

Hyuck turned to look at him, knuckles white around the leopard print steering wheel. “Huh?”

“I said you, uh, are pretty ugly,” Mark said louder, almost too loud, a frantic save.

“I’ll stop this car right now and you can walk, if you’d prefer,” Hyuck’s voice was filled with anger, raspy with sleepiness. Unfairly hot. Mark contemplated trying to find his way back to the college, but his phone was almost dead and so was he, so he kept quiet and slouched down in his seat.

Five awkward minutes passed, and they pulled up to the school, parking lot nearly abandoned. Lights dotted the buildings, students pulling all-nighters or having get-togethers or decorating their new rooms. Some rooms were pitch dark, smarter students getting a full night’s rest.

Not for the first time, Mark wished he had stayed home.

“Thank you,” Mark said as Hyuck climbed out of the car. He didn’t reply. They walked back to their room in silence, took the most painfully awkward elevator ride ever, and got dressed for bed without speaking another word.

\----

The next day, Mark wakes up with a bottle of water and ibuprofen next to his bed. In a gesture of goodwill, he digs the stuffed pig and leaves it on Hyuck’s bed.

\----

The next week was quiet. Almost suspiciously so. Other than attending his first ever college class with a pounding headache and hangover straight from the depths of Hell, nothing truly awful had happened. Living with Hyuck was mostly awkward nods hello and goodbye, and orchestrating his schedule to spend as much coinciding time in the dorm as possible.

All good things come to an end.

On an otherwise uneventful Tuesday night, Mark was zoned out staring at an open Word document while his dormmates watched television in the common room. And then the unthinkable happened. A giant, black spider fell from the ceiling, landing directly on his bedspread. Like any rational human being would do, he slammed his laptop shut and jumped backwards, standing against the wall on the corner of his bed.

And he screamed. Bloody murder. Like he was being chased by an axe murder.

For good measure, he yelled, “Help! Hyuck! Mom! Jaemin!”

Hyuck came rushing into the room, brandishing a hockey stick like a sword. Why he had a hockey stick was beyond Mark, because NCU didn’t even have a hockey team, and if they did Hyuck sure as hell wasn’t on it. In that moment the logistics were so far from important to him that he just let out another questioning squeak and pointed towards the bed.

“What? What’s wrong?” Hyuck whipped his head from side to side, swinging the stick with him. It was almost comical.

Mark pointed at the spider, staring carefully at it, following it’s every diabolical movement with his eyes. “Aaaah!” he screamed, terrified past the point of words.

Hyuck cautiously approached, stepping in Mark’s side of the room for the first time since the first day of school. When he saw the bug, he let out a sigh of relief so heavy it nearly blew the bug away. Then he rolled his eyes.

“We’re pirating a movie, so we can’t pause,” Hyuck pointed the hockey stick at him, enjoying the power way too much, “And you pulled me away for _this_?”

Mark just squeaked. A tiny little beast was dirtying his bed, and he had the audacity to complain about a movie? They were living a real life horror scene!

Calm and collected, Hyuck walked over to his desk and dumped out his novelty mug that contained nothing but Smencils. The spider took a menacing crawl towards Mark. He pressed tighter against the wall and let out a squeak, foot falling in the dip between the bed and the mattress.

“Stay still,” Hyuck said, and pressed the cup down over the spider, trapping it in the folds of the blanket. “Do you have paper?”

Carefully, Mark jumped off of his bed and grabbed loose paper from his own desk, handing it to Hyuck and scurrying to the opposite end of the room. Hyuck picked it up, opened the window, and shook the cup out.

“You killed him!”

“You’re welcome,” Hyuck smiled smugly.

“Thanks,” Mark said, voice monotone, and went over to his bed to strip it of it’s sheets to go into the wash.

Hyuck closed the window and leaned against it. “That’s it? I saved your life and that’s what I get?”

“Oh thank you, brave and noble sir, for saving my gentle and fragile life,” Mark fake-swooned, pretending to faint in Hyuck’s general direction. To his surprise, he stepped forward to catch him.

When he realized Mark was still steady on his feet, he left the room in a huff, slamming the door behind him.

\----

Something between them changed after that night. Despite their banter, they’d learned to coexist pretty well. Often they’d order takeout from the same place, or send each other homework answers for their shared classes. Rarely they’d even bring the other’s laundry when they did their own, resulting in them swapping clothes.

By no means were they friends, but they could sit together in the common room without killing each other, so Mark counted it as an improvement.

It seemed that Hyuck did too. He poked his head into their room, knocking on the wooden frame as he did so. “We’re gonna watch The Room, you in?”

And so Mark followed him, clutching his blanket in hand (it was currently sweltering, but temperature changed at the drop of a dime in the dorm), and popped enough popcorn for the four of them while Hyuck loaded the movie.

Turns out he’d made too much. Jeno and Jaemin wouldn’t be joining them. Mark would be watching a movie with Hyuck. Alone. And he’d already sat down on the couch by Hyuck when he’d gotten the news, thinking Jeno and Jaemin would take the loveseat, and getting up would be rude, so he was stuck sitting by him for the duration of the movie.

After uncovering the initial layer of asshole, Hyuck was actually a pretty alright guy. He’d go to hell and back for his friends, as proven by the handful of times he’d left the dorm at one in the morning to collect a drunk or upset friend. He had a pet dog that he missed more than anything. Best of all, he had a killer sense of humor.

It was the closest Mark had ever gotten to having a frenemy.

“It’s you,” Hyuck said, poking him in the side, when Tommy Wiseau’s character said ‘oh hi, Mark’.

Judging by the repeated Mark jokes, he began to suspect that was why Donghyuck had chosen the movie. 

A month ago, he would’ve found it annoying. Two weeks ago, just bearable. Now, though? Everything Hyuck did was starting to become embarrassingly endearing. He threw a piece of popcorn at him and tried to focus intently on the movie.

\----

“What are your thoughts on cooking?” Hyuck asked out of the blue after two hours of lying in comfortable silence, scrolling through their respective phones and occasionally sending each other memes.

Mark thought for a second. “I’m not very good at it. Why?”

His phone dings with a message from ‘shit list guy’. It’s a screenshot of a chain of texts.

“You know I can’t read,” Mark whined.

“Drama club is baking cookies for homeless shelters,” Hyuck explained, “Yukhei’s gonna drop off supplies in ten minutes, apparently.”

“And this has what, exactly, to do with me?”

Hyuck got up and made the two strides necessary to tower over Mark, staring imposingly down at him. Even from such a weird angle, he was incredibly attractive. He rolled over so he wouldn’t have to see his face. For some reason, instead of using his words, Hyuck chose to flop down onto Mark, caging him in between his arms.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his sandy-brown hair golden. A startled smile spread over his face. His breath was hot and minty, ghosting over Mark’s lips like a gentle kiss. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them Hyuck was still there, still beautiful, still entirely too close for it to be safe.

“Help me, Mark?” Hyuck leaned in a little closer, eyes twinkling with mischief.

At that moment Mark would’ve agreed to anything to get him to move. To jump off of him, or to lean in, or to choke him out and end his misery. Anything to end the awful uncertain anticipation. So he does.

“Okay, yeah,” he choked out. 

Hyuck smiled brightly and said, “Nice, I think I have novelty aprons around here somewhere!”

\----

Thirty minutes later and Mark was clad in a pink ‘kiss the chef’ apron. Much to his chagrin, Hyuck kept taking that literally, trying to lean in and assault his shoulders with kisses. Not his face. For some odd reason, he kept it above the nipples and below the neck.

How their relationship had progressed so quickly was beyond Mark; partly due to forced proximity, most likely, but he liked to think they were just compatible. Sure, Hyuck was an unpredictable ball of energy, but he was still unfailingly kind and loyal, deep down inside.

At the moment, his unfailingly kind and loyal side wasn’t on display. Like a child, he threatened to throw eggs at Mark, or pretended to crack them in his hair, or mimed out snorting flour. Stupidly endearing.

They were only 2/10 batches in, twenty cookies in the oven for a total of 200. Hyuck was in the process of dumping enough chocolate chips to fuel Mark through finals week into a single batch of cookie mix. Mark hip-checked him out of the way and took over, chronic worrier side kicking in.

“What if we don’t have enough for the rest?” he swatted Hyuck’s hand away, which was reaching into the chocolate chip bag.

“We’ll buy more!” Hyuck swiped a chunk of raw cookie dough with a gloved hand.

Mark looked on in terror. “Salmonella!”

“Look,” Hyuck straight-faced, “I don’t know who Sal Monella is, and I’m not scared of him.”

He grabbed another chunk and held it up to Mark’s mouth, making him go cross-eyed. He pushed it against his lips, plastic-covered fingers brushing his chin, eliciting a shiver from him. _Fuck it,_ he thought, _I’d rather die from salmonella than a Hyuck-induced heart attack._

Tentatively, he opened his mouth and closed his lips around Hyuck’s fingertips, licking gently at the thin glove to remove any excess batter. The look on Hyuck’s face was entirely worth the risk of poisoning. Mark let the fingers fall out of his mouth with a slightly wet noise.

“You need new gloves,” Mark said, turning around to the counter to hide his blush. Hyuck stood frozen behind him.

\----

Mark isn’t usually a nap-taker, but music production was kicking his ass, so he allowed himself to rest. Like so many other times around Hyuck, when he woke up he wished he was still dreaming.

Hyuck had showered, apparently, without bringing clothes into the bathroom. So. There he was, dripping wet, in the middle of the dorm room. A towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Slightly defined abs flexing as he towelled off his hair. Beads of water running down, down his neck, into his collarbones…

Mark swallowed, hard, and squeezed his eyes shut, using every last bit of his willpower to resist looking.

“Are you up, Mark?” Hyuck called quietly, padding over the room to him. A drop of water fell onto Mark’s forehead.

Yawning and trying to look half-asleep, Mark said, “Now I am.”

What do you do when your straight roommate is in your room, half-naked, trying to wake you up when you were already woken up? What was Common Bro Procedure? Is it rude to look away? Mark’s one peek away from passing out.

“Can I borrow your t-shirt?” 

Mark swatted at him, hitting a hard stomach with his hand. Perhaps not his brightest idea. “You woke me up to ask about a shirt?”

“That, and you have class in ten minutes,” Mark could practically hear the grin in Donghyuck’s voice.

Naked man be damned, Mark sprang out of bed and over to his closet, pulling out a pair of Adidas sweats and a plain red t-shirt that may have at one point belonged to Hyuck.

“I must’ve overslept, oh my God, what year is it?” Mark’s panic-induced humor began to kick in, which wasn’t a good thing for anyone involved.

Hyuck started laughing. Mark took a moment to realize that he did not, in fact, have a class in ten minutes.

He threw the clothes he was wearing at Donghyuck, and they bounced off of his chest, falling limply to the floor. Nothing deterred his laughter.

“Put some clothes on so I can beat you up,” Mark teased, anger and panic leaving his body and being replaced with cool relief.

Hyuck took a challenging step forwards. “How about you take yours off, coward!”

Mark rushed past him to the door, dodging out of the way of his grabby hands. “Don’t touch my shirt! I’m going to my fake class!”

——

Four hours later and Hyuck stormed into the dorm. He was wearing a familiar blue short-sleeve, simple yet flattering, hugging every contour of his body in just the right manner.

“Is that my shirt!” Mark exclaimed, already knowing the answer.

Hyuck sniffled. Three months of dorming together and Mark had never seen him cry for serious reasons. At dog movies? Sure. When their favorite takeout place closed deliveries? Of course. After accidentally submitting an essay captioned ‘Something Fucking Kill Me’?Hysterical tears.

But this didn’t seem like a nonsense cry. Mark was out of bed and at Donghyuck’s side in less than a second, trying to comfort him while keeping his distance.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something.”

They spoke at the same time, and then stared at the other, waiting for them to go first. Hyuck cracked a smile through the tears as they continually opened their mouths at the same time.

“You go,” Mark said, placing an awkward hand on Hyuck’s shoulder.

Hyuck grabbed Mark’s arm and pulled him over to his bed, pushing him down and sitting next to him. Usually, Hyuck would’ve been burrowed into his side by then. Red flag number two.

“I realized something, um, stupid and dumb today,” Hyuck started, crying harder as he spoke.

“Take your time.” Mark scooted closer to him. Hyuck was usually such a big fan of platonic closeness; they spent most of their time practically on each other’s laps once they’d became friends.

Hyuck scooted away. “Why’d you hate me at the beginning of the year?”

Mark thought back to that first day, when Hyuck had stolen his parking space and then essentially assaulted him. It all seemed so petty in retrospect. He hadn’t thought about it in detail in so long. Since the night Hyuck had brought him back from the party, actually.

“You stole my parking spot, and uh, threw a stuffed animal at me.”

“Neither of those were intentional!”

And, because he was crying, Mark chose to take it easy on him, “How do you accidentally pelt a toy across a crowded parking lot!”

“Maybe you just walked into it,” Hyuck teased, still through tears.

“Maybe you’re a dumbass.” Mark bumped their shoulders.

He expected more banter. An explanation, perhaps. Even a slap in the face would’ve made more sense than what came next.

Hyuck leaned in and pressed their lips together. Salt from his tears stained their kiss, pulling Mark out of the moment.

He pulled back, resting their foreheads together, breathing heavily. “Wait.”

Donghyuck recoiled immediately, confusion coloring his face. Mark reached out and grabbed his hand, playing with his fingers before pressing his open palm to his heart. It jackrabbited.

“Why are you crying?” Mark whispered, Hyuck’s hand warm against his chest. He hiccuped.

“You interrupted our kiss,” Donghyuck said incrediously, “To check up on me?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Hyuck leaned in again, pressing their lips together gently. “I’m crying because out of all of the people in the world, I had to fall for a dumbass like you.”

**Author's Note:**

> im half asleep and didnt check this at all please comment any errors


End file.
